Secondhand Emotion
by Mrs. Witter
Summary: A twist of fate, a business arrangement and suddenly, two old friends become something much more.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer**:I do not own _Gilmore Girls_. Unfortunately, I don't own Chad Michael Murray, either. You can sue me but you won't get a penny. This piece of fiction does belong to me, though.

**Rating**: PG – 13 (may change in later chapters)

**Author's Note**: For Chris, Nate and Susie who encouraged this.

Prologue

"I can't believe you're doing this!" Tristan DuGrey turned away from his grandfather Janlan and fixed his angry gaze on his father, William. The three men were in Tristan's office at DuGrey Enterprises in Manhattan, fresh out of a board meeting when Janlan had decided to let his grandson in on his intentions. "And I can't believe you're letting him do this! This is an outrage!"

Janlan shifted on the couch, reaching for his cane so that he could stand up. "I'm not asking for the world, my boy. All I want is to see you happy."

"I am happy," the younger man replied through gritted teeth and lifted up the manila folder in his hand. "Or I will be when you lift the ridiculous clause out of this contract and just sign the damned company over to me. I don't need anything else to make me happy!"

"Alright," his grandfather conceded and put a hand on his shoulder. "Then you're going to do this to make _me happy."_

"Grandfather," Tristan started, sighing wearily. "You can't force me to do this by using some guilt trip. Can you just come off of this obsession you have with my marital status and my personal life?"

"You're twenty eight years old," William finally spoke up. "Your mother wants to see you settled down and - "

"And giving her grandchildren?" Tristan finished for him, scoffed and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "What is with you people wanting to dictate my life? So you're going to force me into marrying someone?"

"We're not forcing you," Janlan reminded him gently. "You have a choice. You get married and have children, I sign over the company. If not, then William gets control of your shares as well and then he can pass them over to whomever he pleases."

"Some choice," Tristan sputtered. He knew that the ties he had with his family were strained. He knew that their past was rocky and that there was a certain level of dysfunction in the DuGrey clan that could never be fixed, never be solved. But he didn't know that his own blood could turn against him in such a manner. "You're a sick, twisted man, Grandfather."

"I am also very old," he replied, with a smile that seemed to contradict that statement. "You're my grandson and an only child to both your parents. Is it so wrong that we wish that our family name be carried on for generations?"

He knew it was futile to argue but he continued to do so. It was part of Tristan's nature; stubbornness ran in the family. "You have a daughter. She has two sons."

"Technically, they're Spencers."

"So you're ruining my life on a technicality."  

William laughed and slapped a hand on his son's shoulder. "Tristan, you're not a teenager anymore and we understand that we cannot tell you what to do. But if you'll just consider this, go home and have a good dinner and a good night's sleep, you'll see everything differently in the morning."

Tristan loosened his tie and glared at his father. "I highly doubt it."

Janlan made himself comfortable behind Tristan's desk. "It's not like you'll have any trouble finding a wife. You're successful and rich and if I remember correctly, you used to be quite the Casanova in your teenage years."

Tristan winced at his Grandfather's choice of words. "That was a long time ago." 

It wasn't untrue, however. He knew that he still had an irresistible way with women. But as he got older, he learned to keep them at arms length. He did not chase; they came to him. He did not pine; he simply moved on to the next beautiful woman. And above everything else, under no circumstance, did he fall in love. Trouble, was the only thing that particular emotion caused. Lust was allowed, it was natural and he was only human - but that's as far as it went.

Emotions were too damn messy. 

~*~ 

This wasn't the way she had imagined her life. 

No, Louise Grant had imagined a life full of glamour, glitz and fame. She had vowed that one day, her name would be on the lips of everyone who mattered. She dreamed to go down in fashion history with all the biggest names, Versace, Gucci and Gabanna to Calvin Klein. Donna Karen to Ralph Lauren.

She did not expect to be sitting in a dinky office, scrambling for supplies, for employees and struggling to make, well, to make ends meet. She didn't expect that stress would strip her of any talent she claimed possessed and turn her into a neurotic basket case. 

She hadn't expected to fail.

"Louise, let's go have lunch." Her friend and personal assistant, Michelle Ashford called from right outside the office. She peeked inside, her multi-colored head (a result of many dye experiments gone awry) bobbing enthusiastically and her green eyes wide with excitement. "I am in the mood for pasta!"

"You're always in the mood for pasta," Louise reminded her as she stared at her latest creative blunder. She made a face and tossed the board aside, stood up and stretched. "But I am hungry."

Michelle clapped her hands and smiled. "I'm paying."

"I don't pay you enough to facilitate it." 

"You speak the truth. I still don't care," Michelle answered with a grin and then sobered. "You deserve to be treated to a nice lunch. You've been running yourself ragged. You look positively ghastly."

"Thanks," Louise replied as she grabbed her purse from a nearby table. Almost immediately, her cell phone rang. She checked the caller ID and smiled a little. Maddie. "I need to get this, Michelle. I'll be there in five minutes."

"Don't keep me waiting too long, boss." 

"Madeline," Louise stated as she put the phone to her ear. 

"I'm getting married in three days!" Madeline squealed over the phone. Louise peeled it away from her ear and waited for her friend's giddiness to pass. "Can you believe it? In two days I will be Mrs. Brad Langford!" 

Louise smiled genuinely. "No, I cannot believe you're marrying Brad."

"You're just jealous because you can't have him," Madeline sniffed.

"True enough," she answered and settled down in her chair again. "I'm sorry I can't fly in and help you with the preparations, Maddie. I wish I could but I can't get away from work…you know how demanding the fashion business is, right?"

It was a good thing that Madeline could not see the look of pain that passed over her face as she spouted the outrageous lie.

"Are you kidding? You created my wedding gown, Louise. I'm wearing a Louise Grant original. The first original. I feel like a princess. And it's okay, you know? I know you have a big showing and that you're clientele will soon consist of the biggest names in Hollywood. That's what makes me feel so much better. I get to wear something by you before Jennifer Aniston."

Louise managed to chuckle but it sounded hollow to her own ears. Fortunately, Madeline was too happy and preoccupied to notice. "Well thank you. You're support means everything to me."

"You've always had it," Madeline answered, a slight hitch in her voice. "Paris doesn't show it often but she's so excited for you. She even looks through the fashion magazines waiting to hear about you and your creations when she thinks no one is looking. We're all excited."

Louise shifted in her chair, uncomfortable. She would not cry. Surprisingly, her voice came out steady. "I know."

The two friends hung up after a few minutes and after Madeline made Louise promise to show up for the ceremony on time. Fashionably late would not be forgiven. 

She let out a frustrated sigh. At twenty-eight she was supposed to be at the top of her game, in her prime and yet here she was a miserable failure. She had vowed to her father, who was against her career choice from the beginning, that she would be a success. She would show him that she didn't need the Grant millions to be happy and that she certainly did not need a college education to fulfill her dreams. 

He had challenged her to take on the "real world" on her own and she had rebelliously accepted it. 

_"You'll come back, Louise," Patrick Grant had taunted her. "You won't be able to make it on your own and you'll come back."_

What if her father was right? What if she was only fit, only able to live the life that he had planned out for her; marry rich and produce heirs? It had been four years since she left the sanctity and idle comfort of her privileged life and flew to Los Angeles to start her own company, design clothes and sell them to all the big names. 

But starting a business from scratch in a city as big as Los Angeles wasn't easy. She was so used to her privileged life, to people waiting on her hand and foot, she thought that the money her Grandmother had left her would be enough to get her started, to keep her off the streets. It would have been too if she hadn't squandered it away foolishly. If she had reminded herself that her father and the family name would not save her if she got into trouble.

Newfound freedom had made her a little wild. 

To celebrate, she spent the first two weeks in LA partying at clubs, getting drunk, screwing around. She was a liberated woman.

She deluded herself into thinking that she was invincible and that she could do whatever it was that she set her mind to. The first big reality check came to her when the amount in her bank account started dwindling and she realized she couldn't afford to stay in the posh hotel anymore.

She realized that she had to pick up the pieces of her life.

None of her friends knew that Louise was in trouble. She didn't want them to because they'd all try to help her financially. If she let them, it would only remind her of how they were all settled and successful. To her, the helping hand could only be accepted as a slap in the face. She couldn't - wouldn't - be defeated. Not yet.  

She was struggling. For money, for recognition and for her sanity.

This was not how she pictured her life. Not at all. __


	2. Chapter One

**Disclaimer: **Do not own a damn thing! The characters belong to ASP and the WB. Aidan Hunter, Michael and Michelle do belong to me, however.

**Rating: **PG-13 for now

**Pairing: **Louise/Tristan

**Author's Note: **Yes, I do realize I am a Trory. But I am also big on UC 'ships and characters and couples that have been underused and underdeveloped. I will not make it a Trory, even though Rory is in it. I do ask you guys to give it a chance. Maybe you'll like it. That is all.

**Dedication:** To Susie and Nate, my wonderful betas for this chapter. To Miya, for my Louistan inspiration. To Katie, because she gets a Lou/Jess shout out. 

Chapter One

Tristan dropped the keys on the table in the foyer of his apartment and furrowed his brows together when he heard strange sounds coming from the kitchen. He approached slowly, knowing that only one other person had access to his quintessential bachelor pad other than him and there was no way she'd ever venture into the kitchen – voluntarily. The fridge door was open, pots and pans that he had never used in his life but had been given to him as "housewarming gifts" adorned the stove and a big brown bag of groceries was sitting on the far corner of counter. 

He leaned against the entryway and loosened his tie. "What are you doing?"

The brunette who was rummaging through the fridge popped her head out and beamed at him. "You're home! You're out of milk."

He glanced over at the grocery bag. "You didn't pick it up for me?"

"I'm not your maid, Tristan," Rory Gilmore answered haughtily.

"Rory, what are you doing?" he repeated and he walked over to the stove and inspected the pots and pans. He had forgotten where he had stored all of it and was amazed that she found it.

"I'm cooking."

He let out a laugh. "No, I'm serious."

She rolled her eyes and smacked him on the chest. "So am I. You had that big meeting with your Grandfather today and you're probably all stressed out. I thought I'd make you and nice homemade meal."

He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. "Michael cancelled on you again, didn't he?"

Rory winced slightly and then pouted. "He had an important meeting." Tristan shook his head in amazement and opened his mouth to tell her how wrong the guy was for her when she cut him off with, "Don't Tristan. I know what you're going to say and I just…can't hear it right now."

"But Ror -" he tried to say as he came to stand in front of her.

"Look, you don't know Michael like I do."

"And I thank God for that everyday," he replied sarcastically. "Okay, just let me say one thing. I promise it's short and I won't even say his name. In fact, I'd be happy never to say his name again."

"What?" she sighed, folded her arms across her chest turned to face him. 

He reached up and tugged at the shoulder length brown hair. "You deserve much better." Rory gave him a half-hearted grin, knowing that he only wanted made her happy. "So, what made you think you could pull this cooking thing off?" 

"Nothing," she shrugged and then gave him a syrupy smile. "I just thought I'd try and see if I could actually kill someone with my cooking. I selected you to be my guinea pig." 

"Wonderful," he deadpanned, took of his jacket and loosened his tie. "What are you making?"

She turned to the stove and waved him off dismissively over her shoulder. "It's a surprise. Go take a shower." 

"Will you be joining me?"

Used to their banter, she merely shook her head, stirring whatever it was she was boiling in the pot. "Sure. As soon as hell freezes over." 

He chuckled to himself as he sauntered to his bedroom. Over the years, Rory Gilmore had become the only person in the world he could trust. At sixteen, he had actively pursued her when she first stepped into his life, and after being shot down more times than he'd like to remember, he had been shipped off to military school. They hadn't kept in touch and had only crashed (literally) into each other at a fraternity party two years later, at Yale. As if their somewhat rocky history hadn't mattered, they became inseparable.

But it was platonic. Always had been. 

Tristan didn't deny that there had been times when he fancied himself in love with her and his numerous girlfriends since then had often told him that she was the reason he couldn't commit. 

"Nobody measures up," Paris Gellar had told him long ago. "And those who want to try are scared by the history the two of you share. It's so Will & Grace, it makes me sick."

Unfortunately, they couldn't change, as hard as they tried. Maybe the timing was always wrong or maybe it just wasn't meant to be in a romantic relationship. Whatever the reason, they were best friends and as much as he tried to cut her out of his life, it had never worked. She always came back, mostly because he needed her there. She was - as corny as it sounded - the stabilizing force in his life.

So he was content with his string of girlfriend's who never stayed for too long, while all his emotional needs were satisfied by his close bond to Rory. To him, it was the perfect, if not ideal situation.

Until now. Frowning, as he remembered the ultimatum his grandfather and father had issued, Tristan stepped into the shower. Just as he was about to turn the knob, the cordless phone he had installed inside rang shrilly. Wearily, he picked it up. "Whoever it is, you better have a good reason for calling."

"Why? Did I interrupt something?" 

Tristan grinned as he recognized the voice. "Hey Mariano! What's up?" 

"I need to borrow a car the day after tomorrow," Jess replied with a sigh. "I hear you have a few to spare."

"Did your sorry excuse for an automobile blow up on you again?"

"Something like that," the other man stated dryly. "I need to pick up someone from the airport and-"

"And you'd rather ask me than your wife who would surely lecture you 'til no end," Tristan finished knowingly. Paris and Jess Mariano made quite the entertaining pair. "Just drop by my office. You can take the Benz."

"Nice. I owe you one man."

"Actually you owe me twenty, but who's counting?" Tristan could almost hear the grin in Jess' voice. "I'm curious, who is the mystery person you're picking up on the day of Madeline's wedding? A last minute guest?"

"Actually, the maid of honor: Louise Grant." 

"Ah, Miss Haute Couture," Tristan said. "I haven't seen her in ages."

"She's been busy," Jess replied, although it sounded like he was a little suspicious. Tristan didn't know much about Louise since Chilton and the few times he had seen her, she was usually in and out of the function before anyone could talk to her for too long. He and Rory often wondered what had happened to the former "party gal" but Madeline and Paris seemed tight-lipped about the whole thing. Eventually, everyone had let it drop and Louise was mentioned very rarely in any conversation. "Hey, I've been trying to reach Gilmore and I keep getting her answering machine. Is she there?"

"She's cooking."

"Willingly?"

"Yeah, she got stood up."

Jess let out a four-letter curse with his breath. The two men shared the same opinion on Rory's slick-talking, smarmy beau. "Worthless piece of shit."

Tristan nodded. "You said it." 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

"Excuse me," Louise said politely as she slipped between a man and the seats in front of them to get to her window seat. Madeline had insisted to pay for the tickets and Louise had accepted, mostly because, otherwise, she would have to dig into her meager savings to pay the fare and then, rent would be due, as soon as she got back from the wedding. She did however make up one condition: that Madeline didn't spring for first class.

She should have known her best friend would spring for business class instead.

As she settled into her seat, she glanced at the man she was sitting beside. When he returned her glance, she smiled, immediately pleased with how incredibly good looking he was. Chestnut hair that would have fallen over his forehead if he hadn't gelled it back and curled slightly at his nape, deep green eyes, a nice strong jaw, cheekbones that would have made many women jealous and a very pretty, sculpted mouth that was stretched into a friendly grin.

"Hi," he said offering his left hand as the other went to his tie, to loosen it. "Aidan Hunter."

She smiled as she shook his hand. "Louise Grant."

"I'm really grateful for the seating arrangements," he stated and she raised a curious eyebrow. Not many men would start a conversation with such a flimsy pick-up line. "Last time I flew, I got stuck next to this old geezer who fell asleep as soon as we took off and then, immediately started snoring."

"How do you know I won't fall asleep and that I don't snore?"

He grinned as he settled back against the leather. "I don't. But I'm hoping that I'm interesting enough to keep you awake. And if I'm not, at least I'll have a beautiful woman on my shoulder rather than a drooling, sixty year old accountant."

Louise laughed as the hostess passed by with wet towels. She felt some of her tension about the trip and seeing all her friends again, melt away. "Well, I'm not that tired right now and I promise to let you know when and if you get boring. Are you going to New York on business?"

"I live there, actually," he answered as he accepted a glass of soda from the hostess. "What about you?"

"My best friend is getting married today. I'm the maid of honor."

"No offense, but shouldn't you be there before? Like planning the shower and everything?" he asked, grinning a little. Louise's face fell and she stared at her nails, uncomfortable. He had inadvertently hit on a sore spot. "Oh wow, I'm sorry Louise. I have this really bad habit of saying the wrong things…" 

"No," she said, cutting him off. "I just…it's a touchy subject for me. And it's kind of complicated."

He nodded. "I understand completely. Backing off now."

She smiled, lopsided. "Thank you." 

"So, you live in LA? What's that like?" he asked, as the planed lurched forward, traveling to the runway. 

"Different," she replied dryly, remembering the circumstances that brought her to the other side of the country. "I grew up in Hartford, Connecticut."

"Ah," he said and then sudden understanding dawned in his eyes. "Wait; are you Patrick Grant's daughter?" 

"I am." _Or I used to be_, Louise thought bitterly. She glanced out the window, watching the airport rush by as the plane climbed into the air. "Do you know him?"

"My father does," Aidan replied, placing his empty cup on the table in front of him. "They used to be buddies at Dartmouth. Small world, huh?"

"Seems so." She needed to change the subject. Fast. "So, where did you go to school?"

"Oxford Academy, Greenwich." Aidan started to regale her with his life at an all boys school, all the way until breakfast was served. Then, he apologized for his rambling and they both settled to watch the in-flight movie. 

"That was incredibly bad," Louise stated when the credits rolled and she slipped off her head phones. "Why do airlines insist on picking the blockbuster failures for their choice selection?"

"I think it one of the mysteries of life." Aidan grinned. Louise glanced at her watch and then the screen in front of her, trying to discern how much time they had left until arrival. Aidan and the movie had made her forget about her nerves for a little while, but as the distance closed she was beginning to feel more and more anxious. "Louise, are you okay? You seem tense."

"Is it that palpable?" she asked with a weary grin. She nodded a little, easing back into her seat. "I haven't seen my friends in so long. And I'm not exactly in the place in my life that they think I am and I feel like if I see them, they'll just know that I've been lying to them. I might as well walk in with a letter tattooed across my forehead." 

He nodded, sympathetically. "It's just nerves. Going back is always hard. I'm sure they'll be so glad to see you and knee-deep in wedding stuff that they won't even want to spoil their time with you." 

She nodded, knowing that he wouldn't understand completely. Biting her bottom lip to keep it from quivering, she managed a smile. "So, are you anxious about going home?"

"Wary is a more apt description."

"Wary?"

"My sister has been living at my apartment while I was gone," he explained, flashing a quick grin so that Louise knew he was close to her. "Meg is a little neurotic. Think Monica Gellar from _Friends." _

"Ah," she said knowingly. "I'm sorry. I know a lot of neurotic people. Paris –huh, her last name is Gellar too – she's a hurricane of ambition and neuroses. A deadly combo."

Again, before she knew it, Louise had launched herself into a conversation of her years at Chilton with Paris Gellar, Madeline Lynn and then, lastly, Rory Gilmore. Two hours and a short nap later, they were stepping out of the plane and heading towards the baggage claim at JFK. 

"Well," Aidan said as they headed for the terminal exit, after they picked up their luggage. "Do you have a ride?"

Louise scanned the crowd of people and grinned as she saw a cardboard sign with her name scrawled across it in big blue letters. Jess Mariano grinned back at her. "That's my friend, Jess."

"The one married to the hurricane?" Louise nodded. Aidan grinned and handed her shoulder bag back to her. "So, this is it, I believe."

"Yeah," she replied. "I have your number."

He smiled, leaned down and kissed her cheek. "Use it wisely. Bye Louise."

"Bye Aidan," she answered as she watched him walk away. Once he was out of her sight, she turned and then pushed her trolley towards Jess. "Hey, Mariano."

"Grant," he returned evenly although he embraced her, warmly. Jess wasn't a touchy feely guy and she knew it was very rare when he showed genuine affection for someone other than his wife and kid. "It's nice to know you still have a way with men."

She pulled away, laughing. "Always. I got tired of waiting for you." 

It was his turn to laugh. He took the cart away from her and gestured with his hands to the exit. "Well, let's get going. I think the bride is missing her maid of honor."

With a wavering grin, she latched her arm with his and followed him out of the airport. "I can't wait." 


	3. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer: **Do not own a damn thing! The characters belong to ASP and the WB. 

**Rating: **PG-13 for now

**Pairing: **Louise/Tristan

**Author's Note: **Yes, I do realize I am a Trory. But I am also big on UC 'ships and characters and couples that have been underused and underdeveloped. I will not make it a Trory, even though Rory is in it. I do ask you guys to give it a chance. Maybe you'll like it. That is all.

**Dedication: **To Christine, who let me borrow the character of Augusta Mariano from her wonderful fic _When She Cries_. 

Chapter Two

Tuxedos were an annoyance, even to someone like Tristan who had grown up in a society that relished in dressing people up in expensive gowns and these…penguin suits. But it was a wedding and he was a groomsman; that made donning a tuxedo pretty much unavoidable. He hadn't known that Brad Langford considered him such a close friend and Tristan had to admit, he was touched. He supposed Rory, Paris and Madeline had much to do with how different his social circle was now at the age of twenty eight as opposed to the groupies he had surrounded himself with in high school and his first two years of college. He wondered if they knew how grateful to them he was for it. 

"Jesus." He fussed with the bowtie again in exasperation and as he looked around the small entrance of the church for someone to complain about it to, he felt something tug on his sleeve. He looked down to see the four-year old flower girl, looking up with a solemn smile. 

If there ever was a perfect personification of Jess and Paris's union, it was Augusta Mariano, with her dark ringlets of hair and wide, startlingly beautiful caramel brown eyes. Serious wasn't the word Tristan would use to describe the child, but rather _aware_ seemed to be more apt description, as odd as it seemed. It was unnerving to him whenever she settled that gaze on him; he felt she could read every one of his thoughts. 

"Hi Uncle Tristan," she pronounced clearly, her voice soft and sweet.

"Hey there pretty girl," he replied, crouching down to her height. Another one of the many things that surprised him about the child was her strange attachment to him. She would often seek out his company when Paris and Jess dragged her to any social function and Rory had once told him that Augusta had even requested that Tristan be her babysitter. He wasn't great with kids, he didn't love them in that gushy way women always did but his affection for Augusta was deep and beyond his control. He picked at pale pink bow at the waist of her cream colored dress. "That dress is very nice." 

Her nose scrunched delicately, a funny expression for such a serious face. "I don't like dresses. Mommy said I have to."

"Well it's a wedding," Tristan explained, tugging lightly at one of her curls. "And you're the flower girl. If it makes you feel any better, I don't like wearing this either." 

She smiled widely, her dimples deepening. 

"Augusta!" The material of Rory's pale blue bridesmaid dress swished as she rushed out into the foyer from the dressing room which was down a long, narrow passageway. "You sneaky brat. Come back here and let me tie your hair with this pretty ribbon." 

The child giggled and latched onto Tristan's hand, in an act of solidarity as she turned to face Rory. "No!"

"But it's pink," Rory coaxed softly, looking at Tristan for help. He merely grinned and stood up, still holding Augusta's hand. She scowled at him and now crouched down in front of the child. "It'll look so pretty in your hair. Don't you want to look pretty?"

"No," she repeated petulantly. "Ribbons suck."

Tristan guffawed; she was obviously her father's daughter. When Rory sighed, tiredly, he simply smiled. "The girl cannot be manipulated, Ror. So what if she doesn't have ribbons in her hair? She looks fine." 

"Then you explain it to Paris and Madeline."

"Explain what?" Paris asked as she came up behind Rory. Augusta retreated behind Tristan's leg when her mother frowned at her disapprovingly. "Aggie, why don't you have ribbons in your hair?" 

He bent down and picked the child up. "Leave her alone, people. She doesn't need decorations to make her pretty." 

Augusta giggled and rewarded him with a kiss on the cheek while the women rolled their eyes. Paris turned to the other woman with a sigh. "Madeline needs you back there. I've had enough with her rambling. You'd think she was the only person in the world to ever get married."

Rory chuckled and thrust the ribbons in Paris's hand before disappearing down the hallway. Tristan gave Paris an approving once over. She was wearing the same pale blue bridesmaid dress as Rory, which tastefully covered her five-month pregnant belly. "You look beautiful, Gellar." 

Although her cheeks flushed, she rolled her eyes. "You're just trying to make up for siding with my offspring."

"Don't pout, darling. This is a wedding." He grinned at her surly expression, tightened his grip on Augusta and leaned down a little. "Now give me a kiss." 

"Don't think you can charm me," she shot back even as she took his face in her hands and gave him a friendly kiss on the lips. Augusta laughed and swung one arm around her mother's shoulder so that she was now hanging between them. 

"Moving in on my family, DuGrey?" Jess drawled from behind them, looking a little put off, seeing his wife and daughter with another man. "Can't seem to find one of your own, can you?" 

"Forgive me, Mariano. Your wife is irresistible," Tristan stated as they broke apart, chuckling and that's when they noticed Louise Grant standing beside Jess, smiling and clutching her plastic encased maid of honor dress on her arm. 

"Louise!" Paris's eyes brightened and she quickly walked over to her oldest friend, enveloping her in a hug.

"Hello Paris," Louise said over the other woman's shoulder, smiling widely. She looked over briefly at him and Tristan saw the surprise in her blue eyes as she registered his presence. "It's so good to see you." 

"We thought you'd never get here," Paris stated as she pulled away from the hug. "Madeline is going crazy, which is nothing out of the ordinary but I think she just wants to see you."

"Well, let's not keep the bride waiting," she said and with that, the two women disappeared down the hallway. 

Augusta shifted in Tristan's arm and reached for her father. "Daddy."

As the child switched arms and started to place kisses all over her father's face, Brad showed up behind the other men, looking like a wreck. His bowtie was crooked, his russet hair was matted to his forehead from perspiration and he looked like he was ready to bolt any second.

"There you guys are!" he exclaimed, looking relieved. "Where the hell have you been? Oh God! Did I just say 'hell' in a church? Damn, I did it again. Now I said damn. Jesus Christ! I'm going out of my mind!" 

Tristan laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. "Calm down, Langford. Say a couple of Hail Marys and you should be just fine."

Augusta played with Brad's bowtie. "Crooked, Uncle Brad." 

He gave her a sheepish grin. "Thanks Aggie. I'm a nervous wreck."

"You don't say?" Jess deadpanned. "Doesn't look like it." 

"What is taking her so long?" he asked, flailing his arms in the general direction of the room the girls seemed to be disappearing into. "She's been in there for hours. It can't be that difficult to get into a dress, can it?" 

"Well Louise just got here," Jess answered. "I think they should be ready in a minute."

On cue, Rory popped her head out of the door and shouted that they would be ready in less than sixty seconds. Tristan turned to Brad and made a sweeping gesture to the church. "Let's get you hitched, Langford."

"About damn time!" he exclaimed and then covered his mouth with his hand. "I'll just shut up now."

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

"…so Bradford calls me up in the middle of the night, completely trashed…" 

Louise felt like someone was tapping a small hammer on the base of her skull as she listened to Brad's imbecilic cousin, Jerry regale the head table with another anecdote from Brad's misbegotten youth with his dork of a cousin and current best man. It was bad enough that she had to dance with the guy as soon as Brad and Madeline had their first dance as husband and wife but now she was supposed to listen to him speak too? Didn't he grab the limelight long enough when he made his best man speech? The worst speech in the history of speech-making in her opinion. She had given so much thought to her own speech, remembering all her best times with Madeline and wishing the two the best of luck – she had been genuine and real, while this ass-wipe took the opportunity to talk about frat boy antics most of which were of himself. 

She sighed and let her eyes wander over the guests at the reception. It wasn't a huge affair, most of the people in the room were the happy couple's respective extended families and the rest were close friends and some co-workers. 

Which is why she was surprised to see Tristan DuGrey at the reception and even more surprised to know that he landed himself a spot as a groomsman. Brad was not really in his social circle back in high school and she had a hard time believing that the blond playboy, who her mother, Annette Grant, had often told her (in her secret emails to her daughter) was the most eligible bachelor in Hartford, had somehow befriended shy, eager and all-around nice guy Brad Langford just for the heck of it. 

Maybe it was the brunette beside him that had earned him the spot.

Rory Gilmore. Louise knew that Rory was dating some slime ball (she wondered why Rory hadn't figured it out) named Michael that no one liked but deep down, she often wondered about her relationship with Tristan. Whenever Madeline spoke of them it was always 'Rory and Tristan are coming' or 'Rory and Tristan couldn't make it'. RoryandTristan. TristanandRory. Louise was beginning to think it was just a matter of time before they stopped kidding themselves.

Then again, what did she know? She was hardly one to judge their relationship when she lived across the country and only managed to email Rory once in awhile and had barely spoken two words to Tristan since graduating Chilton. 

But he had changed somehow and she was surprised to admit that it intrigued her. He was still painfully gorgeous with his messy hair, deep blue eyes and killer smile (seriously, what was wrong with Rory?) but there was something subtly different about him now. In high school, he had been the player, the confident and cocky guy that got all the girls to swoon and all the boys to wish him gone. Fortunately for them, he was finally booted to military school. 

Maybe that's what changed him. Madeline had told her Paris was the only one to keep in touch with him the first two years of college and then when he transferred to Yale; he had become friends with Rory. Many trials and twists of fate later, the small group had all ended up in New York (sans Louise, of course) and formed their own, weird, _Friends_-esque clique. 

A pang hit her heart and kind of spread through her chest and before she knew it, a tear was forming in the corner of her eyes. Half laughing, she reached up and wiped it away before it fell. What the hell was the matter with her? As she looked up, she met Tristan's gaze from a couple of seats over and he frowned. Quickly, she gave him a smile and raised her glass of champagne to him in mock cheerfulness. He grinned slowly and raised his own glass before returning his attention to whatever story Rory was telling him.

The lights dimmed and soft strands of Eva Cassidy's _Songbird_ wafted through the hall. One of Brad's other cousins picked up the microphone and announced, "It's time for Brad and Madeline's first dance as husband and wife."

As the groom led his beaming bride to the middle of the dance floor, Louise leaned back in her chair, happy for her friend but dreading the tradition of dancing with Jerry, the idiotic best man. _Just my luck_, she thought bitterly as she picked up her champagne and downed it in one sip. _Might as well get a little tipsy_.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

"Dance with me." 

"No."

"_Please_ Tristan!"

"Don't beg, you look simple."

Rory pouted and smacked him on the arm. "Meanie. This is a wedding. You're supposed to dance."

Jess sighed and extended his hand. "C'mon Gilmore, I'll let you step on my feet."

"What's this?" his wife asked, completely shocked. "You're dancing at a wedding, willingly? What did they put in the food?"

"You're a riot, Par. But if I have to listen to Gilmore beg DuGrey's ear off, I'll go insane. Besides, I made a ridiculous promise to Madeline, which I am regretting with every passing second, that I would dance at her wedding. And you're too heavy to lug around the dance floor."

Aggie giggled as she patted her mother's stomach and Paris glared at her husband and daughter. Rory accepted Jess's hand and stuck her tongue out at Tristan. "I don't need you, DuGrey."

"Oh you break my heart." As Jess and Rory joined the other couples on the dance floor, Paris looked around the reception hall as if she were looking for someone. "Who are you trying to find, Gellar?" 

"Louise," she responded as she craned her neck. "I haven't seen her since she had to dance with that idiot, Jerry. I was hoping we could talk."

"Sounds serious."

"I'm just…I don't know," Paris responded with a shrug. "Concerned, I guess. Louise is not exactly the same girl we knew in Chilton." 

"Yeah but how many of us are?" he asked rhetorically as he folded his arms on the table. "I mean, I'm hoping we all grew up a little, right."

"Not you," Paris joked. "You'll always be exactly like you were when you were sixteen."

He grinned lazily. "Well, that's just part of my charm. But hey, if you're worried or something, I can go look for her if you want."

She looked grateful. "My feet are killing me. Just don't tell her I sent you."

After fifteen minutes of fending off advances from women ranging from eighteen to thirty-five, he finally tracked Louise down in the verandah outside. She had a glass of champagne in one hand and a cigarette in the other as she stared across the gardens into what seemed like nothingness. 

"Hey Louise," he said softly, not being able to think of any other greeting.

She looked startled for a minute as she looked at him over her shoulder and then relaxed into a small smile. "Paris sent you, didn't she?" 

He smiled sheepishly. "Guilty. She was just…"

"Worried?" Louise filled in and then laughed. "God, she doesn't change." 

Tristan came to stand beside her and nodded. "It's a comforting thought if you really think about it. You can always depend on Paris Gellar to stay the same, somewhere deep down inside." 

"There is that," she responded and then took a drag from her cigarette. After expelling a breath, she cocked an eyebrow at him. "And what about you Tristan DuGrey?"

"What about me?" he asked as he took the cigarette out of her fingers and lifted it to his own lips and inhaled. 

"Are you any different from when I knew you, way back when?" 

"You tell me." 

"I think you are," she replied after a minute of deliberation. "You're more…grown up."

He almost choked on the wisp of smoke exiting from his mouth and she took the cigarette back. "Wow. That has to be a first. Would you do me a favor and tell that to Paris and Rory."

She giggled and for a second she looked twelve again, when she and Madeline giggled endlessly at the first boy-girl party a fellow Chiltonite had thrown. He didn't know why the image flashed through his mind at that moment but it brought a smile to his face and the beautiful woman she'd grown into smiled back. "So you and Rory…?"

He shook his head and chuckled. "No. We're just friends."

She smirked. "Famous words. If I remember correctly, you made a fool of yourself over her sophomore year."

"I grew up, remember? Besides, that was a long time ago." 

Her smile disappeared slightly and she looked away, opting to stare at the garden again. She dropped the cigarette to the ground and stubbed it out with the heel of her shoe. "Yeah, a long time ago. A lot has changed, hasn't it?"

She had the same look on her face during dinner when Tristan could have sworn he had seen her wipe away a tear. Never an expert when dealing with female tears, he frowned. "Are you okay, Louise?"

She smiled at him brightly. "Splendid. Let's go back in and dance."

Before he could say anything she hurried back into the reception hall, leaving him no choice but to follow, wondering what the hell was going on in Louise Grant's life to make her sad. And wondering why he was so interested in finding out. 


End file.
